


all prayers of joining you

by unraelated



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Slow Burn, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unraelated/pseuds/unraelated
Summary: Instead of being left for dead, Dedue makes it out of the Fhirdiad prison with Dimitri in tow. He does not yet know what kind of person Dimitri has become but he must try to steer him back toward both of their goals, despite the Imperial forces bearing down on them at every turn.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 12
Kudos: 201





	all prayers of joining you

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift fic for [Ruebirds](https://twitter.com/ruebirds), who won my 100 follower fic giveaway and gave me this amazing prompt! I said it'd be 2-3k words, but in typical Rae fashion, I got carried away. I hope you like it!

They ride for what feels like hours with the Imperial loyalists behind them.

Night falls and with it brings the pitch-black sky, the narrow path ahead of them illuminated by stars and the thinning moon. Dedue looks behind them, as he’s looked behind them for hours now, and he sees nothing. No pursuers, no straggling soldiers desperate to keep their prisoners.

They’d been hounded for the better part of the day. Dedue isn’t sure if they’ll be able to avoid search parties for the next, or the next - it’s clear to him that they need to keep moving, ride hard for the southern border, and try to take refuge in the mountains where the tracking dogs will have trouble finding them in the snow, where they’ll have enough time to recover and plan their next move.

Of course, all of that hinges on surviving the night.

Ahead of him, Dimitri is slumped in his own saddle, and he lists to the left, his shoulders hunched, the reins slipping through his fingers. Dedue grits his teeth and urges himself forward, sliding his own horse past Dimitri’s own on the narrow pass and reaching for the reins in his highness’ stead, looping them around his wrist and steering Dimitri’s horse while his liege passes out, held in place only by the straps anchoring his calves to the saddle and his horse’s careful plodding.

Dedue looks at his face and all he can see is blood and matted hair caked into his cheeks. Dimitri’s skin is dark with it, the threadbare prison clothing stained with it, and Dedue fears that if he loses consciousness here then he might never get him back.

It’s cold. Dimitri must be freezing, he must be in pain, he must be - well, a lot of things, but Dedue must first make sure that they are far enough away before they can rest. If they’re ambushed after making it this far, he’s sure that they would both simply die there, and after everything he’s done, that is inexcusable.

The trees loom frighteningly over them, but Dedue presses on, leading Dimitri’s horse down and off the beaten trail, deeper into the shadowy bulk of the forest where he hopes that they can find some place to rest.

_

Dedue had anticipated a hundred things going wrong on the night that he saved Dimitri. He’d planned for his schemes to go awry, he knew that he didn’t have enough preparation or manpower to be confident, but with the date of Dimitri’s execution being moved up, he had no choice but to act.

The horses were the finest breed from the Gautier lands, their saddlebags packed full with various supplies that they could use, and they were stored near the prison, close enough that the two of them should have been able to reach them with little complication.

The Duscur soldiers went in first, causing a commotion and engaging the bulk of the guards in combat while Dedue slipped through the back with his trusted lieutenants. By that point, the Imperial guard knew that something was afoot - of course they’d anticipate some old Kingdom armies trying to free their prince - and so when Dedue and his men met more resistance than anticipated, they had no choice but to push through.

One man fell. Two. His lieutenant. All for the moment when he finally rounded the corner to see his prince in that cell, alert to the sounds of combat outside, watching at the door to see who would enter.

When he saw Dedue, Dimitri’s face furrowed in surprise, and he quickly moved forward as Dedue swung an axe into the lock at his cell, shattering the steel with the sheer force of his strength.

“Put the chains on the ground,” Dedue had said - for once, no time for honorifics or politeness, despite this being their first reunion in months.

Dimitri nodded, kneeling, spreading his hands as far as he could to lay out the chains between his wrists on the ground, and Dedue took careful aim, his hands firmly on the handle of his axe, and swung. The steel crashed into the ground, inches from Dimitri’s thumbs, splitting the chain as if it were made of thread.

“I hope you can still fight.”

A sword was thrust into Dimitri’s hand and the two of them pressed against one another, back to back as the newest wave of guards piled into the claustrophobic chambers. Dimitri - his prince, his liege, the entire reason behind all of his efforts - nodded back at him and shifted his stance into one that Dedue knew well enough to see with his eyes closed.

“I’ll take the one on the right,” Dimitri gritted out, and Dedue worked with him, flowing near him like water, the two of them covering one another seamlessly as they fell the first wave… and the second, and the third.

_

Dedue’s fingers work tirelessly at the straps that secure Dimitri’s legs to the horse, leaning up to wrap an arm around his waist and gently lower him from his steed, lifting the weight of him in his arms as Dimitri blearily fights his way back to consciousness.

“Dedue - Dedue, is that you?”

His words are soft, vulnerable, and Dedue would give anything to never hear him sound like that again.

“It’s me,” he confirms, “we’re stopping for the night. I need to look at your wounds, we need to rest.”

Dedue slowly moves to lower Dimitri to the ground, where he can stand on his own two feet, but upon Dimitri finding his equilibrium, his liege reaches out with his non-injured arm, flailing blindly until he grasps at Dedue’s shoulder, clinging to him like a child might cling to their parent.

“I can’t - I can’t see you, Dedue, please -”

What can he do but pull him close? What can he do but gently lift the hair out of Dimitri’s face, and stare in horror as he realizes the extent of Dimitri’s injuries? Half of his face is bloody and raw, having swollen terribly in the time they needed to ride, and it looks more like _meat_ than a man. The rest of his face is obscured by blood from his injuries, crusted into his eye, obscuring what vision he has left.

In their escape, they’d fought seemingly endless reinforcements, he remembers. He’d been preoccupied, but remembers Dimitri handling an opponent with a mace, remembers hearing a scream of pain as Dimitri ran him through and then - blood dripping from his cheek, his face turned away, and they’d had to get to the horses, they’d had to run...

Dedue has seen many grievous and mortal injuries before and his experience with the gore of the battlefield is the only thing that keeps his stomach from turning at the sight of the slashes through Dimitri’s right eye and cheek, the blood and fluid that has long-since dried on his face. Even fully lifting his hair away is difficult, as it’s congealed in the dried blood, cracking open the fresh wounds with each attempt to brush it aside.

“I’m here. It’s alright,” he reassures, though he’s not sure if it _is_. Dimitri’s right eye is clearly beyond saving, and it’s hard to tell if he’s going to be able to keep the left, now that they’ve let fester for hours. They need to clean the wounds, bandage them, before anything else.

“Here,” he murmurs, guiding Dimitri to a large stone, “sit. I’m going to get our supplies so I can help you. I won’t go far. Listen for the sound of my footsteps.”

Dimitri nods, wrapping his arms around himself in some desperate way to reclaim some of the warmth stolen from him by the frigid night air. When he searches the bags for the medical equipment, Dedue also grabs a cloak, bringing it all over and announcing his presence in heavy footsteps before gently draping the bulky fabric around Dimitri’s shoulders.

Then, he crouches in front of him with a low murmur, tilting his head up to look over Dimitri’s face again.

“I’m going to wash your face, your highness. This will sting.”

Dimitri nods and Dedue pours some of the water skein onto a scrap of fabric, leaning up to gently tilt Dimitri’s head, holding onto his chin as he slowly starts peeling the rest of his hair from his cheeks. As much as he wants to start cleaning and bandaging the gore that is the right side of his face, ensuring that Dimitri has some vision takes precedence and so he carefully begins to wipe at the blood caking his swollen eye shut, wetting his lashes and working at cleaning as much as he can around his eye.

“Open,” he asks softly and Dimitri creaks his eye open, his pupil blown out in the darkness as he tries to blink through the sudden visual stimuli and the various flecks of dried blood that act as an irritant. The white of his eye is stained pink with blood and Dedue raises the water skein again, lifting it over his head. “We’re going to flush it out. Try to keep it open.”

It's slow going, but there's progress. After a few more minutes of gentle work, Dimitri can hold his good eye open, has enough of his face cleaned off that he's recognizable while Dedue turns to the rest of it with a frown.

Dimitri flinches through the process but holds firm and soon, the cloth is so dark red with the blood that Dedue is washing off of him that he must grab another. Eventually, another. With it cleaned up like this, it looks… less bad than he had feared, but still worse than he'd hoped. The slice down his cheek is clean and hasn't punctured into his mouth - it can heal well. Most of the blood seems to come from his brow, where the slash is the deepest, and then… 

His initial suspicions are proven correct: there's no saving Dimitri's eye. It pains Dedue to admit it even to himself, but when he tells his prince, there's no visible reaction. Dedue slowly moves to wrap it in turn, putting his experience at battlefield combat medicine to the test as he tends to the worst of his injuries.

"Tired," Dimitri tells him as he's putting the finishing touches on the bandage, and Dedue sympathizes but holds firm.

"There's more. Show me your arm."

That seems to draw a chuckle out of Dimitri, though there's no humor behind it.

"If you're that concerned about a cut, we're going to be up all night."

Dedue's brow furrows in confusion. "What do you mean?" 

"It's just that," Dimitri starts, then stops, opens his mouth to speak again and closes it. There's a pause as he draws the cloak tighter around himself and Dedue doesn't miss the slight clench of his jaw at some unseen pain. When he speaks again, it's strained, his voice thin against the evening air. 

"... I was their prisoner wasn't I? They - Cornelia, she…" but he can't get the words out and eventually growls in frustration, moving to stand and letting the cloak fall from his shoulders. He turns then, so his back is toward Dedue and crosses his arms in front of him to grip at the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. 

He doesn't remove it in its entirety, doesn't even lift it more than halfway up his back but Dedue's eyes widen all the same to see the barely-healing marks stretched across his skin. Marks that could only come from a lash, and he wants to lift his fingers to touch, but in that moment he's struck still.

Dimitri lowers his shirt a moment later, but not before Dedue notes the sheer number of them, the various stages of healing. In the months that it took him to gather followers, to convince his Duscur countrymen to save their fallen prince, how many times had Cornelia had him whipped? How many times did a new lash fall on an old wound trying to heal and rip it open again? From the looks of things, the last beating couldn't have been more than a week ago, and without proper medical care… how had Dimitri ridden so long without complaint?

"So," Dimitri finally says to his stunned silence, "let me sleep. We can tend to this mess in the morning."

Again, Dedue wants to touch him. Looking at the silhouette of his shoulders against the dying firelight, the way his head is bowed in defeat, how can he not want to comfort him? Dedue aches to let him do exactly what he's requesting, but he knows that he needs to push the issue, if only for Dimitri's health.

"...I will lay out a bedroll for you," he finally offers, moving to stand, "you can lay in it while I tend to your injuries."

Dimitri sighs, resigned, and moves to sit back down, drawing the cloak up around his shoulders again while Dedue busies himself with the pack. He brings Dimitri some dried meat and bread to eat while he works, and sets out to make their camp.

They'd stopped in a small secluded area in the wood, one pressed into a nearby mountain. With solid rock on one side of them and a thicket of trees around them, Dedue hopes that they're reasonably protected. There are predators to be wary of, not to mention their pursuers, but he can stay awake through the night while Dimitri sleeps - he has to.

He's made a small fire in the darkness, which is a risk, but they can't fumble around without being able to see anything either. At the very least, the flames should scare off wild animals, and they're in dense enough foliage that it would be difficult to catch a glimpse of the light and smoke, even at a hundred paces.

The bed unrolls easily and Dimitri moves over to it, grimacing as he shoulders off the cloak and tugs his bloodied shirt off, shivering in the cool northern air. Dedue watches him, his face carefully blank as Dimitri sits, adjusting the bedding before moving to relax on his stomach on top of it, resting his uninjured cheek on his forearm.

He _does_ drift off eventually, something that isn't terribly surprising, but impressive all the same, given that Dedue is still bandaging his back, delicately cleaning it off with a growing pile of bloodied rags and spreading salve along the worst of it before wrapping the injuries as best he can. His fingers work strongly, dutifully, and he says nothing, tries not to think about how they've barely spoken since Dedue rescued him, tries not to think of the men and women who died to get Dimitri this far - men and women who will never see another day and will never see a time when Duscur is rebuilt. 

It all hinges on Dimitri's survival. Whatever Dedue's personal feelings may be, Dimitri is alive for a grander purpose - he will lead someday, when this war is behind them, and the people of Faerghus will follow. That's why Dedue's men died today. That's what all of this is for.

When he's finished, Dedue stands and pulls the cloak back over, covering Dimitri's bandaged back with the warmth of it and moving to sit on the opposite side of the fire, a hand on his axe. 

Dedue doesn't sleep but his thoughts wander and he drifts. For over an hour, he sits there, controls his breathing, and thinks about what is still to come. 

With the rightful king alive, they'll have to carefully rally their loyalists. He hasn't seen Sylvain since Garreg Mach fell but he thinks they'll have to start with him, to the east of Faerghus. Others would follow, fall into line, and then they could use that force to take back Fhirdiad, to drum up further loyalty to the west, and then march south. They could find more houses to pledge for them, the scattered Duscur soldiers, maybe even send missives to the Alliance. And then - 

Dimitri gasps, a sharp intake of breath that rattles through the otherwise-silent camp. 

Dedue blinks and moves to stand, watching over him. Dimitri's face is hard to see underneath the bandages, but Dedue can see his brow furrowing and after another moment, he convulses with a cry, twisting to his side and reaching a hand up blindly to scour at the fabric over his face.

Dedue rushes to him, sinks to his knees.

“Your highness -” he starts, reaching for Dimitri’s hand to try and pull it away, lest he hurt himself further. Dimitri lashes out and Dedue grabs hold of his other wrist, holding it firm as Dimitri tries to pull his hand back, letting out a growl of frustration.

“I must do it!” he cries out, his voice shockingly loud in the still of their makeshift camp in the middle of the night. The sound of it startles Dedue enough that his grip on Dimitri’s wrist slackens and Dimitri takes the opportunity to roll away from him, getting his feet flat against the ground and pushing himself backward, still half-crazed with sleep.

“Your highness,” Dedue says again, firmer this time as he moves to get closer, but is stopped by the image of Dimitri curling up, holding his arms up in a vain attempt to keep Dedue away.

It works. He stays away.

“It’s only me.” Dedue’s voice is pleading now, longing to reach for him, but he doesn’t, not when Dimitri so clearly wants him at arm’s length.

Sense seems to come to Dimitri in a steady trickle.

Once he’s certain that Dedue won’t come any closer, he lifts a hand back up to the bandage at his face, pries at it until he can get his fingers underneath it to feel his twisted injuries. Dimitri’s jaw clenches as he pulls his hand away and looks at the blood staining his fingers, incredulous, as if he cannot believe it’s coming from himself.

“I know,” he says in a soft whisper, tipping his head to the side, listening. He’s not looking at Dedue while he speaks. Dedue bites his lip. “I know what it is. I wasn’t strong enough. I will be next time.”

“Your highness, please, you need to rest.” Dedue tries to interrupt, but Dimitri carries on as if he hadn’t heard him at all. His prince stands slowly on unsteady legs and turns back toward the darkness of the forest before them, his shoulders tense and hunched in the cold.

“Or would you rather I joined you?” Dimitri asks no one, his voice climbing higher, “would that bring you joy? No - no, you need this from me. You need my _compliance_.”

Dedue moves closer to him, now that he’s facing away, his mouth set in a thin line. He knows that Dimitri has had difficulty with his guilt in the past, knows that there has always been a large part of Dimitri which cared only for revenge - has he found a path toward it? Or has he been tortured so much in the cells of Fhirdiad that he would not recognize Edelgard if she stood before him?

The man who is here now is still Dimitri. Dedue recognizes the parts of him that he’d tried to hide in their childhood, in the Academy, the parts that are now etched into his skin as viscerally as the slashes that he’d bandaged earlier. 

Whatever he’s been through, it’s made him drop his polite and princely air.

Slowly, Dedue lifts a hand to the back of Dimitri’s shoulder, brushing his fingers against the skin there.

“There isn’t anyone - “

But Dimitri cuts him off again, whirling on him - he misses catching Dedue’s wrist at first, depth perception, but Dedue holds still so that Dimitri can follow through and wrap his fingers around his arm, stepping in close, his eye aflame, and Dedue can feel Dimitri’s fingers grind against the bones of his arm.

He’s not afraid. He’ll never be afraid of him.

“Your highness.”

There’s a pause. The tension in Dimitri’s shoulders slowly bleeds out until there’s nothing left of it, his expression softening as Dedue finally, finally sees recognition in his eyes, mingled with a fair bit of confusion.

“...Dedue?” Dimitri’s voice is soft, weak. Dedue nods, confirming, and lifts his other hand slowly, so as not to startle him, touches his shoulder again. Calm. Reassuring.

“I’m here.”

“Are you?”

There’s a pause and Dedue's heart breaks at Dimitri's tone. But he has to steel himself and so he nods, ironclad. 

"Yes. I broke you out of Cornelia's prison earlier today." He thinks it might be better to lay out the facts, the things that Dimitri can remember, and so he continues. "We were pursued. There was a battle, but we emerged victorious. We took two horses - they're tied up over there - and made our escape. When we made camp, I bandaged your wounds."

Dimitri is silent, staring at him, his hand still on Dedue's arm. Dedue can see some form of recognition brimming under the surface, knows that somewhere in there, Dimitri is considering his words.

"...do you remember that, your highness?"

There's a pause before Dimitri offers him a short, jerky nod and lets his hand fall away, releasing Dedue from his grip.

"Forgive me," Dimitri finally grits out, turning away from him and moving back toward his bedroll. "I should have - I get confused, sometimes." 

"I understand."

Dedue walks after him, stepping past him and hesitating at the dying embers of their fire. He wants to ask for more, wants to _know_ more. He knew Dimitri so well just a year ago. This new version of him is… still the same man, but different in ways that Dedue doesn't know how to anticipate.

He was tortured, that much is certain. It left scars on him, physical ones, and tore whatever semblance of mental healing he'd had in Garreg Mach right back open.

He will need to be built back again. There's no other option. 

Dimitri settles back against the bedroll under Dedue's watchful eye, lays on his stomach, and says no more for the rest of the night.

-

Four more days of travel finds them along a small river that leads through the mountains. The horses have had difficulty navigating the rough terrain of the trees and foliage, but they have little choice other than to slow down and guide them - they'll need to ride later, after all.

Dimitri washes his hands in the rushing water, lingering at his reflection, but Dedue says nothing about it. The bandages on his face are there for good reason, but it would be good for them to wash out the wounds now that they have more access to fresh water. 

Dedue fills all of their canteens and leads the horses over to drink. 

"This river is a branch off from Seiros' Tear," he observes, eyes narrowing as he looks above them for the direction of the sun, "I think. It means we've made good time. We should be able to reach Fraldarius territory soon - then, with the Resistance's help, we can go back to Fhirdiad and retake it."

Dimitri doesn't respond at first. Instead, he stares darkly toward the water, his hands stilling under the surface. 

"I don't want to go back."

"...what do you mean?" Dedue asks on reflex, careful not to raise his voice in his shock. 

Water sloshes over his fingers as Dimitri lifts his hands to the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head. When that's done with, he starts working on his boots, unlacing them with stiff fingers.

"You heard me. If we attack, we attack Enbarr. That witch deserves a miserable death and I intend to grant it to her."

Dedue wants to be patient but it's difficult. "I don't understand," he finally says, "how would we attack Enbarr without going through Fhirdiad?" 

Dimitri shrugs, toeing out of his boots once he has them unlaced enough.

"Down through the mountains, past Garreg Mach," he explains, as if it's the easiest thing in the world.

Okay. He can follow this logic. Dedue tries to see it Dimitri's way, imagines going South first.

"That's Alliance territory."

"And if Claude attacks me then I'll kill him too," Dimitri reasons firmly - quite confident, given that he's recently lost an eye and suffers a host of other cuts and gashes that are just now beginning to heal.

"Your highness," Dedue tries, not wanting to correct him but yearning for him to see some sort of reason, "it would take months to go around. Your people are depending on you. They need you to free them so that we can -" 

"They _betrayed_ me!"

The air goes still with silence after Dimitri's outburst. Dedue freezes, watching him, heedless of the canteen going full in his hands under the water. 

Dimitri's shoulders slump and he looks away, his jaw tight.

"...they betrayed me," he repeats, his voice softer, broken. "They believed what she said about me. They thought that I'd - that I'd do that to my uncle. My _own soldiers_ arrested me, Dedue."

Dedue is silent. Slowly, he brings the canteen up and inserts the stopper. Dimitri doesn't look back at him. 

"How many were there? Already gathered in the courtyard for the execution? If it was anything like the crowd that gathered for my sentencing, they would be deafening. The cheer that rang out when she sentenced me to death… I can still hear it now. Can't you?"

He wants to protest. There’s still Duscur, still Dimitri’s promise to him, the men and women who died for him, who still support him in the shadows… but Dedue doesn’t think that now is the best time to bring all of that up.

Instead, he sets the supplies aside and moves to Dimitri’s side, reaches up to him and touches a hand, still cold with water, to his shoulder.

“...I’m still here,” he tells him, trying to keep his voice even. “You know I will never betray you.”

Dimitri nods, lifting his own hand up to touch at Dedue’s fingers, lightly clinging at them for a moment before his arm falls away again and he splashes it back into the water, disrupting their still reflections.

“I know.”

It’s an admission, a strong one, one that sparks a sliver of hope in Dedue’s heart. Dimitri still knows him, still trusts him. He doesn’t want to even think about what it might be like if Dimitri was alone, and so he pushes that thought away and instead lets his hand slip down to the top of Dimitri’s bandages.

“We should wash out your injuries, your highness. It will do good to clean them again.”

Dimitri nods, stripping away his socks and reaches behind him to slowly peel off the bandages lacing along his back while Dedue takes care of his own armor, setting it aside but keeping his battleaxe handy in case they’re ambushed in their vulnerable state.

Nothing happens though. Nothing even rustles in the nearby trees as Dimitri strips himself down and steps into the river, a visible shiver going down his spine. Dedue hesitates a moment before doing the same, having the sense of mind to grab at another rag before following Dimitri into the water.

It’s cold, of course it is. They’re just now finishing with the chill of Winter and not so far from Northern Faerghus that the melted snow from the mountains has had time to warm properly. Dedue feels goosebumps rising on his legs, his calves from where the water sears into his skin, but doesn’t let that deter him as he moves closer toward Dimitri.

Dimitri, who looks down at the water with something else in his eye, with… relief maybe, with some kind of sense of peace. Dedue wonders how long its been since he’s truly been able to wash up and wishes in that moment, as he’s wished so many times, that he could have rescued him sooner.

He takes that thought and he holds onto it to avoid thinking about the rest of him. Dedue’s hands have been intimately acquainted with Dimitri’s back recently and they will be again - it doesn’t mean that he can look at the slenderness of his waist or the curve of his thigh and think about what it might be like to touch him in a manner that isn’t simply trying to tend to his wounds.

Dimitri moves until the water level is at his thighs and sinks his hands back into it, hissing at how frigid it is but lifting up to trickle the chill of it along his forearms, his elbows. 

Dedue tries not to watch him wash. He mirrors him instead, focusing on cleaning himself from their difficult travels, getting his arms and legs thoroughly rinsed before moving for his torso. 

It's a long moment before he realizes that Dimitri is watching _him_.

He catches his eye, a bright blue spot among the backdrop of his bruised and swollen face. Dimitri doesn’t look away - either he doesn’t have the sense of self to know that he _should_ , that he’s been caught in the act of staring, or he doesn’t care. Either way, his eye skirts down Dedue’s body again and he presses his lips together before turning away.

“You said we should rinse out my injuries.”

Dedue didn’t hide himself when Dimitri looked at him - why would he? He had no shame, but… now that Dimitri has turned away, he wonders if it would have been prudent.

The moment has passed though and Dimitri brings up a good point, so Dedue takes his rag and moves closer to him, lifting it to the map of scars along his back and slowly beginning to wash.

_

Dimitri’s wounds heal until all that’s left of the mess of his face is a few small scars over where his eye used to be, curving downward along his cheek. His back isn’t split open and tender anymore and Dedue no longer needs to tend to him. He doesn’t _miss_ Dimitri being hurt of course, but he misses having the opportunity to be close to him, to take care of such an obvious need. Now that Dimitri is healed, he feels at times more like an accessory, like Dimitri is free to pull away into his own world and live there, independent of everyone else.

He knows that Dimitri is planning his revenge. He knows that, for Dimitri, that is all there is. But he also knows that there was a promise that was made, and as much as it pains him to put pressure on his king who is already so close to fracturing, he must hold Dimitri to that promise.

For now, they hunt together.

Dedue has never been fantastic with a bow and Dimitri is more agile than him by a mile, even without their armor on. While Dimitri never necessarily trained with bows, he gets the hang of it quickly, always a fast learner, and Dedue watches him sometimes, sees the way that the corded muscle in his arms go tense and slacken as he releases the arrow.

Dimitri lets out a sound of exclamation as he strikes the blow which fells the deer before them and they both descend on it quickly, Dedue unsheathing his knife to slit the beast’s throat and kill it.

Once the creature is dead, he hefts it to his shoulders, ignoring the way the blood drips uncomfortably to his arms, and they begin to carry it back.

Something feels… wrong, though, and he can’t put his finger on it. It’s just a low feeling in his gut as they make their way back to the cave that they’d made as a more permanent camp while Dimitri recovered.

Dimitri doesn’t seem to notice and instead inspects one of his spare arrows, tilting it in his hands and squinting at the way the arrowhead wasn’t quite centered on the shaft. He works at fixing it while they begin to climb the rocky path back toward the cave.

“We’re running short on arrows,” Dimitri observes as he tucks it back into the quiver. Dedue nods.

“At least the deer will last us awhile.”

Dimitri hums in approving response, his feet stumbling over the loose stones on the path.

“We should check your traps, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a few rabbits in them.”

It’s hard not to smile at Dimitri like this. Dedue always enjoys it when he’s in this sort of mood - light, conversational, nothing like the deranged prince that he’s seen in the dark of the night, when Dimitri wakes up and doesn’t seem to know what’s real and what isn’t.

Dedue thinks that a part of him will always be in that prison cell listening to his own people cheer for his death. He thinks that a part of Dimitri will always be in the crypt when Edelgard was revealed as the Flame Emperor.

A part of him will always be trapped the Tragedy of Duscur.

These are things that Dedue knows, things that he accepts about Dimitri as he accepts everything else, but he wants to encourage this part of him too - the part of him that tries to plan out their meals, dispenses their supplies, acts the leader that Dedue knows he can be, if he could only take the power for himself again.

Instead, they recover, lick their wounds, and plan a foolhardy suicide mission against Edelgard.

Something turns in his gut again and he can’t quite place it. He looks up toward the cave, closer now, and can barely make out the glint of steel against the darkness. His armor, perhaps, shifted in the wind, or…

“Your highness.”

He says it softly, going still on the path. Dimitri doesn’t seem to notice and moves past him.

“For the last time please, call me -”

But this isn’t the time for that. Dedue reaches out, clasping his hand around Dimitri’s forearm, his eyes never leaving the mouth of the cave. The glint of steel _moves_.

It’s then that he realizes that all the birds have gone quiet. _That’s_ what he noticed before, somewhere deep in his subconscious, the lack of sound, of the fluttering of wings around him… his mouth goes dry and Dimitri stares at him silently, curious as to what he could want. Dedue drops the deer to the ground, and he can’t see anything else so he focuses on listening. _Listening._

_There._

Dedue uses his grasp on Dimitri’s arm to yank him out of the way as an arrow flies toward him, a shot that would have struck him in the throat.

Dimitri stumbles with a grimace, his eye widening when he sees the arrow strike against the ground in front of him. He turns toward the source of it and finally, sees the man in the tree, hidden by the foliage and wearing dark leathers to further blend in.

Once they know what to look for, Dedue sees another. Another.

Dimitri scrambles to tug his bow off of his shoulders, reaching for the arrow to expertly string it again, sending it back toward his attacker. He misses in his rush to counter, but it’s enough that the enemy knows they’re there now.

Two men step out of the cave, wielding swords. A third swordsman steps out from behind a tree.

Three men in the trees with arrows, three men with blades. A small scouting party, Imperial by the looks of the red cloth underneath their armor. Dedue’s armor back in the cave, along with his axe, the lance Dimitri had fashioned for hunting.

Two against six, with two home-fashioned bows, a couple of daggers, and no armor to speak of. Dedue does the math and doesn’t like the result.

“Back to the trees,” Dimitri grits out and Dedue agrees - the further they can get from the archers, the less likely they are to be struck, even if it means that they lose sight of them in their rush to find cover.

Another arrow flies, from the second archer and with nothing to parry it with, Dedue has to try to sidestep it - it catches him, the steel barbed tip of it glancing off of his bicep and scouring deep. He doesn’t think about it. He can’t.

They run.

Dimitri breaks through the line of trees first with Dedue on his heels and arrows flying around them, less accurate now due to the added distance, but no less lethal. The swordsmen follow in hot pursuit. Dedue whips around the gnarled trunk of one of the trees, down the hill further and deeper into the woods as he removes his own bow and hastily tries to string it.

He keeps sight of Dimitri throughout, the streaks of his blond hair rushing through the underbrush, the tan of his clothing snagging on various small branches.

“How many arrows do you have?” He asks on a rushed exhale, and Dimitri glances toward him with his good eye, before quickly refocusing on the winding path ahead of them.

“-three. You?”

Dedue grits his teeth and regrets his missed shots earlier.

“One.”

The soldiers are still behind them in hot pursuit and Dimitri swears under his breath. Four won’t be enough to deal with six soldiers, it would barely be enough to handle two. It leaves their knives and maybe if they can disarm one of the swordsmen - but then there’s still the three archers to deal with.

Dimitri readies an arrow and glances behind them. They’re still faster than the soldiers due to being less encumbered and knowing this part of the forest better, but who knows how many other scouting parties are in this area. The longer they run, the more likely it is they’ll find another. They’ll need to face this squad sooner or later and Dimitri looks as if he’s ready to take action.

What can Dedue do but back him up? When they stumble across a fallen tree, Dimitri clambors up to the thick trunk of it and gets down on one knee to steady himself, balancing carefully on the branches while he aims behind them. Dedue follows suit, crouching by the overturned roots and nocking his final arrow.

The three soldiers break through the thicket all at once. One of them hesitates at the sudden sight of the two of them turning to face him and Dimitri takes his opportunity, loosing his arrow and sending it flying toward him.

It strikes him in the face, piercing through the flesh of his jaw and out of his neck. A scream dies in his throat and Dedue fires at the second guard, catching him in the shoulder - not downing him, but weakening his sword arm and forcing him to swap his sword to a bad hand. Dimitri pulls the second arrow out of the quiver but he isn’t going to be fast enough before the two soldiers are on him.

Dedue tosses his bow aside and _charges_ , bellowing out a scream to rattle the standing soldiers as he tries to overtake the one he’d already weakened. He feels a sword slash for his back but it lacks the strength to cut deep enough to stop him as he rams his shoulder into the man’s gut, taking him down.

Torn between helping his ally and charging Dimitri, the third soldier eventually chooses to focus his efforts on Dedue, turning his back on Dimitri and raising his sword while Dedue struggles with the man on the ground, getting fingers around his wrist and trying to crush enough to force him to drop the sword.

He pulls out his dagger with the other hand and plunges it downward. Fingers on his wrist try to stop him but he’s stronger than this soldier by far and strikes downward, killing him quickly.

Dimitri looses an arrow into the final soldier’s back but it’s not accurate enough, it won’t stop him, and he raises his sword high to behead him.

“Dedue!” Dimitri screams, and that sound - his voice sounds like heartbreak and Dedue is reminded suddenly of a small blonde boy standing between him and Faerghus soldiers. His shriek had sounded the same back then.

Some things never change.

Dedue closes his fingers around the dead man’s sword beneath him and rolls, parrying the blow with an inch to spare. The blades cross a hair’s breadth from his face and he holds as much as he can at the awkward angle, on his back with the wet leaves under him. He sees the soldiers face redden as he grits his teeth and uses both hands to push down.

The blade slides lower, indents the skin at his throat.

Dimitri’s hands are on either side of the soldiers face and he grips him tightly. Dedue only sees his eyes widen a fraction of a second before Dimitri snaps his neck, killing him instantly.

The weight falls on top of him and Dedue gasps, winded temporarily from it. Dimitri reaches down to pull his arrow from the man’s back and then roll him off, reaching a hand down to help him up.

“Are you okay?”

Dedue nods, feeling the sting at his back, his arm.

“There are more.”

“Yes.”

But where are they? The archers had been behind the soldiers, given that they had to climb down from their perches, but they also moved quieter and were more nimble, harder to locate. One of them could be drawing an arrow from anywhere in the foliage right this moment.

Dedue is acutely aware of how vulnerable they are - exposed throats, no armor, nothing to stop an arrowhead from lodging under their skin.

His heart is racing and when he looks over, Dimitri is just as wide-eyed, pushed by pure adrenaline as he reaches down to take the sword from one of their fallen attackers. Dedue collects the rest of the arrows and watches around them.

“They’ll be here soon,” he warns, “if they aren’t already.”

“Unless they ran like the filth they are,” Dimitri grits out between his teeth. Dedue frowns but ultimately finds that he agrees and the two of them slowly, carefully begin to make their way back to the cave.

Dedue’s back is warm with blood from where he’d been hit by the blade he now carries but neither of them say anything about it. All of their medical equipment is back at the cave.

They’re not twenty paces away when Dedue sees one, recognizing the dark leather now that he knows what to look for as the man furtively darts behind a tree. He nudges Dimitri silently and points and Dimitri nods, dropping his blade so that he can draw his bow again.

When the archer steps out to shoot at them, Dimitri is faster and looses an arrow, which lodges itself in the tree. The man gives a shriek and ducks back behind the tree and Dedue is _moving_ , fast toward the tree. The second archer comes out of hiding to the left and tries to take aim for him, but Dimitri shoots at him as well, hitting him in the arm and ensuring that he’ll be unable to draw his bow for the foreseeable future.

Dedue catches up to the tree just in time to see the archer scrambling away - he grips at the back of the man’s tunic, fingers clenching in the fabric and slams him back against the bark, disorienting him and driving his blade quickly across his throat while Dimitri descends on the second archer to kill him quickly. That just leaves…

He doesn’t see him in time. The arrow sails through the air and Dedue’s heart clutches in his throat.

“ _Dimitri!_ ” he yells and Dimitri looks up at him. Dedue meets his eyes when the arrow hits him, colliding with the back of his shoulder, the impact sending him down to his knees.

Dedue doesn’t think, he just _moves_ , blinded by the need to ensure Dimitri’s safety. He flips his dagger so that the blade of it is caught between his fingers and thumb and _throws_ with all of his might toward the final attacker.

He doesn’t look to see if he’s connected his throw. He must have because all he hears is a gargled scream. Instead, Dedue vaults himself toward Dimitri, his eyes wide as he takes in the damage.

Dimitri is still on his knees but the arrow struck him in his upper shoulder, inches from his throat. From the looks of things, it glanced off of the top of his shoulderblade and instead pierced the meat of his muscle, skewering him completely and extending out of the front of his shoulder. 

Dimitri lifts a hand to grip weakly at the arrowhead, still in shock and seemingly not comprehending that it’s _inside_ of him. Dedue wraps an arm around his back, easing him, his fingers wrapping around Dimitri’s to prevent him from injuring himself further.

“It’s alright. It’s alright,” he promises, hushed.

“...lived through worse,” Dimitri manages, and Dedue has to agree - though being without a healer makes this one particularly dangerous.

“I’ll get you back to camp. We can remove it and bandage the wound there.”

Dimitri looks up at him, dazed by the sudden pain of it which seemed to have drawn him out of his temporary bloodlust for now. He blinks and struggles a token resistance as Dedue reaches down to pick him up, laughing - but there’s no humor behind it, just surprise, perhaps a mild hysteria at the sudden shock of pain.

“I can walk.”

What can he do? Dedue feels helpless, doesn’t want to hurt him any further, but at the same time, doesn’t want to risk Dimitri weakening on their walk back. His brows furrow and he looks toward Dimitri’s eye, taking a step closer to him. Close enough to pick him up. Close enough to almost touch the wicked head of the arrow still impaling through his shoulder.

“Your highness, please, I must insist.”

Dimitri tilts his head up to look at him, curious for a moment, still high on adrenaline and shock and pain and lifts up on his toes to kiss him.

Dedue reels at the sudden kiss - a kiss? How? - and wants to break it but find that he can’t. He wants to touch him, he’s wanted to lay his hands on him for so long, but Dimitri always seemed so untouchable, so aloof.

Now, with his lips pressed against his, Dedue has no choice but to kiss him back.

It breaks too suddenly and Dimitri takes a step backward, reeling a little. Dedue reaches out to secure him, hands on his biceps.

“You said my name. Before.”

There’s a pause.

Dedue remembers crying it out of course - how could he not - but at the time, it seemed necessary, he’d reacted on pure instinct and now he finds himself embarrassed by it. At the end of the fight, with the both of them having more or less survived, Dedue struggles for an excuse and finds an uncharacteristic flush rising to his cheeks.

“I - I apologize. It was… urgent.”

Dimitri smiles, but it turns into a grimace halfway through. He turns to take a shaky step and Dedue follows, careful to make sure that Dimitri is still steady enough despite his injury.

“You should - _ah_ \- say it more often.”

What is he supposed to say to that? Dedue is still surprised at the ambush, at Dimitri being injured, let alone the kiss. What did it mean? Why would Dimitri kiss him like that, out of nowhere, when both of them are still painted in the blood of their attackers?

He doesn’t know, but he remembers Dimitri’s eye on him all those weeks ago when they bathed together, remembers the shrill cry of Dimitri’s voice when he was about to die. He thinks that maybe, for as long as he’s tried not to look at Dimitri, Dimitri has been looking at him.

He doesn’t know what to make of that.

_

Dimitri sleeps better curled against Dedue’s bulky chest.

Dedue likes to watch him, to linger over the softness of his features when he’s relaxed like this, the curve of his nose, the way the scarring on his face somehow makes him look even more regal.

His hair is getting longer. Dedue strokes over it gently, looking out from their makeshift tent and taking note of the frost gathering on the ground, the way that the morning dew weighs down the blades of grass, dragging them back down toward the earth. With the sun just beginning to rise and the morning light dappled through the trees above, it looks… peaceful. Soft.

They’ll need to move again soon. Since the attack all those months ago, they’ve moved often, used their growing knowledge of the terrain to track supply lines, cut down scouts, and disappear before retaliation could occur. They hadn’t made it to Fraldarius territory yet and Dedue thinks that they might never make it there.

Dimitri and Dedue have both been pulling in different directions, both of them staving off the inevitable. It’s all that Dedue can do to keep Dimitri from charging South for Enbarr, and Dimitri won’t reach out to anyone else, doesn’t seem to want to lead or put his trust in his people who have already betrayed him.

It leaves them here. Camped out in the forest, a wanted man and his companion, for as long as they can keep on surviving.

It leaves them with Dimitri still waking in terror, but allowing Dedue to calm him the way that he longed to on that first night. It leaves them in one another’s embrace, carving out what slight bits of comfort they can wrest from this broken world.

Dimitri’s lashes flutter and his eyes open. His good eye flits up toward Dedue, seeing that he’s awake, and he murmurs something intelligible, stretching out his legs but remaining close.

“Mm, I had the strangest dream,” he finally says, his voice hushed but satiated.

“Oh?” Dedue knows of course, that the vast majority of Dimitri’s dreams are visceral nightmares. He wakes from them often enough, screaming and violent. But this one feels different. Dimitri seems calm upon waking, for once.

“I dreamed about a ceremony.” There’s a pause as Dimitri rubs the sleep from his good eye and he moves to sit up, shivering in the cold morning air. “I was running through the halls trying to figure out where I was supposed to be. There were portraits all around me, looking down. Saying things - I don’t remember what.”

Dedue moves to sit up alongside him, reaching a hand for Dimitri’s scarred shoulder, reassuring and gentle. Uninterrupted, Dimitri continues.

“I finally found the doors. I opened them and walked into a great hall, with everyone in white and blue. And you… you in the center of the room, kneeling as they crowned you king.”

“...me?” Dedue’s hand drops away and he tilts his head, quizzically.

Dimitri turns back toward him, curious. “I think you would make a fine king. It’s a shame our roles were not reversed.”

It’s the first time he’s ever thought about something like that and he can’t help but to shake his head with a snort of laughter. Dimitri’s mind is unkind to him most hours of the day, and the one time it isn’t, he dreams about _that_?

“I see.”

“No you don’t,” Dimitri argues, moving to stand and reaching for some warmer clothes to change into, “you’re kind and reasonable. You’re smart, compassionate, loyal… any nation would be lucky to have you.”

Dimitri’s back is facing him and so it’s easier to retort with -

“Even Duscur?”

His prince freezes, one arm pressed inside of the sleeve. Dedue hadn’t really meant to say it, it just slipped out and Dimitri’s resulting stillness makes something dark pang in his chest.

Dimitri doesn’t turn to look at him. Dedue finds that he must turn away, but he cannot feel guilty. He’s avoided pressing Dimitri for so long, allowed them both to live in this gentle purgatory, alone but together, making no progress toward their goals, but healing.

Meanwhile, Edelgard’s forces grow stronger. Meanwhile, more people of Duscur are killed. It aches in his heart to think about it and he doesn’t know if Dimitri has forgotten or if he’s just trying to avoid it because it’s too painful to think about.

Dimitri slowly finishes dressing but doesn’t look back at him as he works at the ties of his jacket, a worn leather from the skins of their prey that they’d captured and eaten in the past few months.

“...I can’t win this war,” he finally says, his voice far weaker than it had been a moment ago. Dimitri’s head is tilted downward. “I’m not even a contender in it. I have no power to free Duscur with.”

Dedue moves to stand as well, reaching for his own clothing and trying to ignore the tremor in Dimitri’s voice.

“I know you won’t trust your countrymen after what they did to you,” Dedue starts, his voice gentle as always, understanding as he finishes dressing and moves to be at Dimitri’s side. “But what about your friends?”

“What do you mean?”

Dimitri moves to leave the tent and Dedue follows, assisting him in taking down the fish that they’d hung up to dry so that they could preserve them. He takes a basket, keeps it held out while Dimitri starts to untie the small knots at their tails, the two of them moving together in easy, practiced motions. They’ve done this before. They’ll do it again.

It takes Dedue awhile to reply, which has Dimitri looking toward him, his brows furrowed as he sets the first fish in the basket. In truth, he’s been thinking over this for awhile, but hasn’t been sure how to present it to him. Now seems as good of an opportunity as any.

“The millennium festival will be upon us soon,” he remarks carefully, watching for any sort of recognition in his eyes. “Everyone promised to be there. If you had more allies -”

“-Dedue, that was years ago,” Dimitri says, cutting him off though not without sympathy, “they’ve surely forgotten - and even if they haven’t, Garreg Mach is fallen. It’s not a meeting place anymore, it’s just… a husk.”

Even though it’s a denial, it pulls a slight smile from Dedue as Dimitri drops another fish into the basket.

“You underestimate your draw, as always,” he murmurs, taking a hand off of the basket to reach up and touch Dimitri’s cheek, tender. “If they thought, even for a moment, that you would be there, I’m sure that our former classmates would stop at nothing to go.”

Dimitri’s brows furrow and he looks away, pulling free from Dedue’s fingertips.

“I’m not - I can’t be that person for them.”

The last fish is cut away and put into the basket, which Dedue sets aside in favor of moving closer again, sliding his fingers along Dimitri’s waist this time and gentling him back into a warm embrace. Dimitri goes with it, helpless to resist, and Dedue presses his cheek against his prince’s hair.

“You’re already that person for me.”

His prince. His lover. His future king. Dedue wants desperately to keep him safe, but more than that, he would do anything to push Dimitri toward a goal that he knows both of them share. Dimitri can’t keep running, can’t keep risking his life over and over again just to be a gnat at the Empire’s side. If any of them are to pull through and win this war, if Duscur is ever to see peace, then it will be through Dimitri’s power. As much as he loves him, Dedue knows that.

Dimitri gives a long exhale and Dedue can see him steeling himself.

“...just how long is it until the festival?” he asks, carefully.

Dedue lets him go so that Dimitri can busy himself with disassembling the drying rack.

“Three and a half weeks from now.”

“And we’re…” there’s a pause, as Dimitri calculates, “...about a week’s ride from Garreg Mach. That doesn’t give us much time to prepare.”

Is he… agreeing? Dedue’s heart flutters for a moment. He thought this would be more difficult, but now it seems as if Dimitri is actually considering it, pushing forward with Dedue’s comforting presence at his back.

“We don’t need to prepare much,” Dedue reassures, “they’ll meet us there and then we’ll figure out what our next step is.”

“So…” Dimitri starts, going still again as he looks over the campsite. They’ve made memories over the time they’d been on the run together, they’ve cultivated something sweet and soft and Dedue knows just how reluctant Dimitri is to walk away from his life as an outlaw and try again to live as a king. But he needs to if any of their dreams are to come true, and so he nods slowly, fingers drawing in tight. “To Garreg Mach, then.”

Dedue nods, reaching for his shoulder, just to touch him again. To keep him steady. He will always be here to keep him steady.

“To Garreg Mach,” he confirms.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so interested in the idea of Dimitri who wasn't alone after his betrayal, who had emotional support and didn't blame himself for Dedue's death... I like to think that he's maybe not as dark and angry, but still has those shadows to him. Hopefully I conveyed that well!
> 
> Hit me up on twitter [@unraelated](https://twitter.com/unraelated) if you liked this and wanna keep crying w/me about this amazing game!!!


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